by Irina Argo
Poor guy, thought Anock. He thinks Simone is his mate.
“You came to save Simone.”
“No.” Antar’s voice was calm.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you too well. Listen to me, brother.” He grabbed Antar by his arm, demanding his attention. “She isn’t worthy of you. Simone isn’t the one you’re waiting for. She’s not capable of a real relationship. And I’m glad you found it out now and not after you trusted her with your heart. She’d chew it up and spit it out. Keep it for yourself, brother. We need the Legacy Alpha in one piece.”
Antar didn’t answer. Removing Anock’s hand from his arm, he turned around and strode rapidly down the stairs.
Chapter 25
Somewhere
Arianna flinched when the door opened and Khay entered her cell. She hadn’t seen him—or the strawberry-blond female with him—since the ritual. Looked like it was time for bloodletting again.
Her torture was repeated. Khay held Arianna still on the bed while the female—Khay called her Bahiti—drew the blood. They teased each other, laughing and joking suggestively. Ugh, they were actually aroused by the blood, and also probably by the fact that they were forcing her to submit to them.
Her theory that they were lovers was confirmed as they left the room. Khay blocked Bahiti at the door and pulled her to him kissing her lewdly. Bahiti responded with the same enthusiasm, throwing one arm around his shoulders and holding the jar of blood in the other.
Then Khay shoved his hand up Bahiti’s blouse and she dropped the jar.
It exploded in shards that flew across the cement floor, leaving Arianna’s blood to spread in a forlorn puddle where it had hit.
Arianna went cold inside. They were going to draw more blood to replace what they had lost. The pride’s weekly feeding was their priority, no matter the cost to her.
Now Arianna understood precisely the fate thousands of Amiti had to endure. Her father’s stories took on a new life, no longer a distant history that had happened to someone else, but the reality experienced every day by real people. Her people.
She’d always known that at some point she’d have to take the reins as Queen of the Amiti, but she hadn’t fully understood what that meant. Her experiences as bloodstock had been accumulating, piling one degradation on top of the next, and watching her blood pooling on the floor was the last straw. Now Arianna wanted to help the Amiti not only because as their Queen she was obligated to; she wanted to help them as one of them, as one who had suffered the same fate, had felt on her own skin what it meant to be bloodstock.
She’d always dismissed her father’s repeated assertion that she was the most important of the Amiti. It had seemed like the kind of thing any father might tell his child, and accepting it seemed immodest, somehow. But now she got it. It wasn’t a compliment, an ego-stroke delivered by a doting father. It was a fact. She had a calling to fulfill.
And her death was a luxury neither she nor her people could afford. From now on, she had to stay alive by all means.
How ironic was it that she’d realized her significance at the very moment when she’d experienced herself being treated like she was utterly worthless? Even now Khay was putting his hands back on her to hold her down again.
“Wait,” she cried out as Bahiti prepared to insert a catheter into Arianna’s other arm. “You can’t take so much blood at one time. It could kill me. Please, let me recover for at least a day.”
“Shut up!” Bahiti slapped her across the face, then inserted the catheter. Much to Arianna’s surprise, she was still conscious when Bahiti finished with her.
On the way out, Bahiti stopped at the door and looked back at Arianna with disdain. Seductively she grabbed the back of Khay’s neck and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him, but her eyes were on Arianna’s. She was putting on a show for Arianna, flaunting her freedom and connection to someone else: Look what you are missing.
Arianna just stared at her indifferently. At that instant she decided that she would never again show any Sekhmi her weakness. She wouldn’t give them that pleasure.
But after Bahiti and Khay left, she broke down and sobbed. She longed desperately for some form—any form—of affection: a hug, a gentle stroke across her cheek, the feel of a loved one’s heartbeat next to hers. It wasn’t until she’d lost these natural, everyday gestures that she realized how much they meant in her life.
She tried calling for Simone again, but something really dramatic was happening to her sister, and Simone was too agitated to pick up her signals. Arianna could sense that Simone was in serious trouble and might need Arianna’s help. But what could she do from here? It was devastating to be locked in here knowing that Simone’s life was in danger.
Arianna reached through the blood-bond again. Yes, that’s what it was: Simone’s life was in danger; she knew it for certain.
If only—if only—Arianna could escape. Pushing herself back into the very corner of her bed, where the cell’s walls met, she closed her eyes and imagined power flooding her body, imagined herself shooting that amazing pure white energy blast at the door to her cell, blowing it up into a thousand pieces. The members of the Sekhmi pride burst through the doorway and she blasted them, too, laughing as their bodies disintegrated as though she’d set them on fire. Or as though they’d been immolated by lightning bolts, because that’s what her power felt like. Lightning, coming out of her own body, streaming from her own hands.
And then the image shifted. She was in the cell, right where she was sitting now, staring in horror at two beheaded bodies on the floor. In this version, the door exploded into a thousand pieces, but the blast came from the outside. A man walked through the space where the door had been, coming for her. She didn’t know whether to cringe or welcome him.
Then it was like she was in his body, seeing herself through his eyes—half hidden by her hair, huddled in the corner of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her skin was ashen and she was thin and exhausted. Was she starving?
She felt his heart twist at the sight of her, felt an invisible hand tighten his throat. And then she felt a compulsion flaring up inside him. He had to protect her.
He approached her slowly. Carefully, as though handling a wounded bird, he lifted her and cradled her in his arms. His heart was breaking, his world falling apart. He felt all of her loneliness and her pain.
And Arianna was flooded with gratitude that he understood her, and she knew that she already loved him. She molded her body against his and felt at peace.
He carried her up the flight of stairs and when they stepped outside, the sunlight blinded her, but she turned her face toward it anyway, dissolving in the amazing world of sun, love, and freedom.
Chapter 26
“Don’t worry,” Odji said after several minutes of silence on the drive from the mansion to the trial. He was driving and kept his eyes on the road ahead of him as he spoke. “Everything’s going to be okay. Your father’s had Theores on it full-time since you were brought here. She’s been working her magic on this whole fiasco, making sure you’ll be fine. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
Hope unfurled like wings in Simone’s chest. Odji sounded so confident about the outcome.
And ... maybe her father really loved her after all?
“Listen carefully,” Odji continued, maneuvering his way along the narrow streets of the city. “This is what the King wants you to do.”
Simone was all ears. The pieces all seemed to be set in place, but it wasn’t going to be free; there’d be a price to pay.
“You can describe what happened at Shay-Nefer, but you must not mention anything about Arianna. Just forget that she’s your sister. Very few vampires know that Istara had an Amiti heir and that there’s a young Queen. We need to keep her off the radar as much as possible.”
“Well, of course. Sure, that makes a lot of sense.”
“Good.”
The car stopped in front of the Arles Amphitheatre, a monumental building similar to the Colosseum in Rome. Built in the first century AD when Arles flourished as part of the Roman Empire, it accommodated over twenty thousand spectators. Back then, they came to watch gladiators, chariot races, animal slayings, and executions. Now, humans came to watch bullfighting, plays, and concerts—and immortals came to watch the Confederation’s Council hear cases and judge and punish the accused.
And now Simone was about to become a part of that history.
As she approached, flanked by Anock and Odji, the amphitheatre seemed silent and empty, but then everything changed. They passed through the energy shield erected on these occasions to conceal those present from human passers-by, and the whole area exploded with light and sound. Shit, it really was sold out.
Simone paused for a moment just before stepping out into the floodlights. She was entering at one end of a huge, oval arena that yawned before her, surrounded by tiers of terraced seating packed with spectators. In the arena’s center stood several contraptions related to various types of punishment—she couldn’t even look at them right now or she’d throw up. At the far end, a newly-built raised dais held sections of VIP seating arranged like large box seats in a theater. At the dais’s center, a smaller semicircular platform rose slightly higher—clearly where the Council would sit in judgment.
The whole dais was festooned in the Confederation’s official colors, deep maroon and gold, with banners displaying its emblem: a crowned, winged serpent devouring its own tail. Each element in the emblem was rife with symbolism, the kind of thing children learned in school. Simone remembered learning that the serpent itself, Uroboros, symbolized immortals’ regenerative capacity. She wondered if the Council had considered the irony of flaunting it here, where so many immortals’ regeneration ended.
She took a deep breath, gathered all of her dignity about her, and entered the arena, grateful to have Anock and Odji with her.
The crowd exploded with applause and whistles. But Simone wasn’t a fool; she knew why they were excited. The vampire princess had arrived to be judged for the entertainment of the crowd.
Holding her head high, she completed the seemingly endless walk to the far end of the arena and took her place beside the two other prisoners: a male Nightwalker vampire and a female werejaguar. She’d be tried last, saved for the finale; after all, she’d become the main event.
Odji leaned to her and whispered in her ear, “Hang in there, gorgeous. We need to go to meet the King, but remember—we are always here for you, no matter what. We are your pride.”
Flooded with gratitude, she caught his hand and squeezed it hard, fighting back tears. “Thank you, Odji.”
She felt blessed that she had been born a vampire and had her pride to protect her. Reluctantly, she let Odji and Anock go. She watched them walk to the dais and disappear behind it.
The crowd, which had quieted to a dull roar after Simone’s entry, suddenly erupted again with cheering and applause. The Confederation Council members—the Court who’d be passing judgment on Simone and the other accused—were beginning their procession across the arena toward the dais. Its eleven members included representatives from all major immortal groups. The hems of their dark violet robes swished against the arena’s sand floor, leaving sweeping trails behind them like snakes’ tracks. Fans threw flowers streaming with colorful ribbons into the arena.
How touching.
Simone’s eyes sought Tor, but she felt his powerful aura wash over her from across the arena before she saw him. Her eyes stayed glued to him as he reached the dais, where the rest of the pride was already waiting in the VIP section reserved for them. Simone watched as he exchanged greetings with the other dignitaries. Why wasn’t he looking at her? He hadn’t come here to socialize! Surely she deserved at least a sign of acknowledgment.
Why hadn’t she been born a boy? She’d have given everything for a fraction of the love he showered on his adopted sons.
By the time Tor took his seat among the pride members, the Council had gotten settled in their tribune. It was a comfort to see Theores among them, representing the vampires, even though to Simone’s disappointment Theores had to recuse herself from Simone’s case. She reminded herself that it didn’t matter, technically speaking: a tie would count in Simone’s favor. The Council Chair, Brianne, was an elegant, diminutive elfin with white hair, alabaster skin, and long, slender ears shaped like inverted teardrops.
Court sessions always began with opening ceremonies; Simone vaguely registered a fire dance being performed by a pack of werewolves clad in minimalist black leather costumes. When the performance was over, Brianne raised her staff and the arena became deathly quiet.
The Chair opened the Court session by calling forward the first prisoner, a Nightwalker vampire accused of murdering a human family. According to his defender, the Nightwalker had had no intention of harming the humans; he’d lost control, overcome with bloodlust. Simone stopped breathing at the word bloodlust: she was about to use a similar defense for herself, and the Council’s determination in this case might affect what they decided in hers.
Her heart seized when the Court sentenced the Nightwalker to death. They went on to explain the verdict: the vampire was over a hundred years old and should have had his bloodlust under control, so his excuse was unacceptable.
With a combination of fear and morbid curiosity, Simone watched three executioners enter the arena. They looked like embodiments of Death itself, with every inch of their bodies swathed in black and black hoods completely covering their faces.
One of them carried what must have been the biggest sword Simone had ever seen. The other two tied the Nightwalker’s hands behind his back and led him to the center of the arena, where they forced him to his knees.
At a wave of Brianne’s elegant hand, the sword hissed through the air, neatly slicing off the Nightwalker’s head. A fountain of blood exploded from his neck and his head landed in the dirt, eyes wide open and face and hair covered with blood.
Simon covered her mouth with her hand, horrified. She turned toward where her pride sat, trying to catch her father’s eye. But he wasn’t even looking at the arena, just sitting there speaking casually with Leon, holding a Pink Sunset, not disturbed at all by the beheading. If the Council ordered her beheading, would Tor just keep drinking his Pink Sunset? Or would he intervene somehow?
Brianne raised her staff again and summoned the next prisoner, a young female werejaguar named Madalena who was accused of killing three humans. At twenty-five, Madalena had only recently acquired the unique characteristics and skills of her species. Her defender argued her case diligently. She’d killed the humans because they were hunting jaguars in the jungle. They’d already killed one and were looking for more.
Madalena interjected to point out that jaguars were an endangered species whose numbers were declining annually. Humans considered it a crime to hunt jaguars, so what these human poachers were doing was illegal. They would sell the skins in the illegal fur trade, and the body parts would be sold for use in potions of all types, primarily to enhance males’ sexual prowess.
As humans could not monitor hunting deep in the jungle, Madalena had taken the law into her own hands and administered her own brand of justice. She closed by stating proudly that these humans were not worthy of the privilege of life and that she had no regrets about her actions.
Simone thought that Madalena had acted more like a hero than a criminal and hoped that the Council wouldn’t condemn her for what she’d done. It appeared that the sympathies of the crowd and the Council were with the girl. All but one thumb went up: Madalena would not get the death penalty. The crowd roared with approval.
Madalena’s face melted into a wide smile of relief; her life had been spared. But she was not yet free to go. As a crime of mortal severity, murder could not go unpunished. The Council huddled in consultation for a moment and then announced the penalty: de-clawin
g. The amputation of claws was a relatively mild punishment for someone of Madalena’s species—with time, her body would regenerate the claws—but the procedure itself was extremely painful and humiliating.
Madalena’s eyes shone with tears as two of the executioners led her over to one of the contraptions in the center of the arena, a large cube of what looked like solid, highly-polished granite. They guided her into a kneeling position and secured her wrists and hands with metal cuffs that had been embedded in the stone. Madalena didn’t resist at all, just exuded a combination of dignity and despondency that seemed to capture everyone’s sympathy, judging from the crowd’s stillness and silence.
Brianne rose and faced the crowd. “According to our law,” she announced, “a volunteer may act as proxy. Is there anyone who wishes to take the punishment in this female’s stead?”
Madalena desperately scanned the crowd.
“I do,” roared a voice from the second tier of seating.
All eyes turned to find a young male with Brazilian features and lithe body moving with feline grace down to the arena. He was clearly also a werejaguar. The crowd responded with a thunderous ovation.
He approached the Council and respectfully bowed his head. “I am Raul and I will take the punishment for Madalena.” With an approving smile, Brianne nodded her consent.
As Raul walked over to where Madalena knelt in the cuffs, she finally burst into tears, her face shining in the floodlights like the granite’s mirrored surface. “No, Raul, no,” she begged, her voice echoing through the amphitheatre, which had grown silent again.
“Please, Lena. I must do this,” he urged her. They were speaking to each other with an almost painful intimacy, as though thousands of spectators weren’t eavesdropping on their conversation.
